


Base Zero

by godtiermeme



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Homestuck, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: Takashi Shirogane heads Base Zero, the last safe haven of mankind following the invasion of the bloodthirsty alien race, known as the Trolls. Supplies are dwindling, morale is getting lower by the second, and, after nearly two decades of continuous warfare, all hope seems lost.On the other side of the war, a small group of Trolls, known as the Beta Sector, have grown disillusioned with the war efforts. They resolve to leave behind their bloodthirsty species and join the Humans.I have no fucking clue where, exactly, this is going.(The main ships are DaveKat and Klance, but, if a character is tagged, they’re not just there as background. Everyone tagged is going to get a significant role, as long as I actually finish this one.)





	1. Razor Thin

**Author's Note:**

> **_guess who's FUCKING BACK!?_** and i'm still not planning anything like an absolute dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian Parkhurst, “[Razor Thin](https://soundcloud.com/brianparkhurst/heart-of-the-lion-razor-thin?in=brianparkhurst/sets/voltron-legendary-defender-season-7)”, from the _Voltron: Legendary Defenders_ season eight soundtrack.

... Individual Personal Data folder loaded.  
... Accessing data...  
Data accessed. Printing...

NAME: David Lesgle Strider  
DATE OF BIRTH: 03 December 2109 ... CURRENT AGE: 23  
BIRTHPLACE: Houston, Texas, United States of America  
CRIMINAL STATUS: Moderate

... Loading criminal activity file...  
CRIMES: Petty theft, Destruction of property, Possession of an illegal weapon, Disturbing the peace, Drunken conduct [3]

End of file.

* * *

The street is as empty as one would expect it to be. The city of Skaia fell twenty years ago, and all but the luckiest of its inhabitants were captured be the invading alien species, the trolls. When you walk, the asphalt crumbles beneath your feet. Dust blows in the wind, and it follows the gritty remnants of society; the grains of crushed concrete and rust sting your face and burn unprotected eyes. The air, itself, reeks of decay. The stench of death, though dulled, remains. Though the sun hangs in the sky, it does little more than filter through cracks in the crumbling architecture of a forgotten city.

Amid this ruin stands a man. Dark, almost reflective black lenses shield his eyes from the detritus-flecked breeze, and a black leather jacket protects his pale skin. Despite his youthful appearance, his hair is a shade of blond so light that it appears almost white. His hands grip the faded hilt of a meticulously sharpened sword, the blade of which is marred only by the stains of past battles. When he moves, he does so with an abundance of speed and a remarkably disproportionate lack of anything that could even be considered grace.

Nearby, there's a woman. She looks remarkably like her travel companion, though her features are softer. Her stature is shorter, and her skin, a bit darker, but their resemblance makes it impossible to ignore their familial connection. Her outfit is comprised of a thick, pink jacket and some faded black jeans. Black combat boots protect her feet from the crushed glass and rubble, which so abundantly litters the remnants of Skaia's streets.

The first of this pair is Dave Strider; the second is Rose Lalonde.

These two individuals have been wandering the outskirts of Skaia for the past six years. Prior to this, they had occupied a small scavenging community. Of course, as the saying goes, nothing gold can stay. The trolls found the community and wiped it from the face of the earth, killing its inhabitants with gleeful, ruthless abandon. And, now, they find themselves before the shielded entryway to the fabled final bastion of human existence, Base Zero.

“It's dirtier than all the pictures you see floatin' 'round, ain't it?” Dave speaks, and his voice is marked by a pointed southern drawl. The edges of his lips form a faint smile, though it's quickly wiped away.

“Well, those photos were taken upwards of a decade ago, David, so I'd assume it's been a bit run down since then.” Rose's response is laced with a sense of tired annoyance. “This  _is_ Base Zero, though, I am absolutely certain of that. We've followed the archival maps without fail, so—”

A low hum comes from above, and a small, pyramidal drone descends from above. The camera, mounted into one of the cut away corners of the contraption, points itself at the confused pair of blonds. From the speaker on its undercarriage, a commanding, mid-pitched voice speaks up. “Who the hell are you two?”

“My name is Rose Lalonde, and this is my brother, David.”

Dave opposes to this statement with a low growl. “Dave. The name's Dave.”

“Awesome. I don't really care. What're you doing here? We already have enough mouths to feed here as it is, so—” the voice is cut off.

Now, another voice speaks up. This one seems to be female, and it's marked by what can best be described as some form of a British accent. “My apologies for Keith. I'm sure you're both tired. I'll lower the shields for you to enter. Come quickly.”

“Allura, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” asks the first voice.

The second voice responds with an air of distinct disinterest, “I’m letting in two more people to work around here.”

At this point, the pulsating orange field around the base has briefly dissipated. A pair of sturdy metal doors slide open, and a city of steel and stone is revealed. The streets have been dug up and replaced with hard-packed dirt paths, down which zip large four-wheel ATVs. The air is visibly clear; the only dust is kicked up from the ground by the vehicles. It’s beyond anything either of the two refugees could have imagined, and neither can believe what’s happeninh, even as they shuffle swiftly into the fortifications.

* * *

As far as Trolls go, Karkat Vantas is short. He measures little more than five feet tall, and his stature can aptly be described as somewhat stout. His horns are similarly underwhelming; they’re little more than small, rounded nubs, which just barely poke forth from beneath a mane of wild, wiry black hair.

He’s been dubbed by many on his crew to be the runt of the hatch. In physical labor, he consistently performs below par, yet, due to his blood, he’s never given a chance to work anywhere else.

“Your work has been disappointing this sequence, Vantas,” chides his superior. “Need I remind you that you are already on probation for your lackluster performance?”

“No, sir,” Karkat hisses. His sharp teeth dig into his lower lip, though he’s careful not to draw blood. The last thing he needs is a visual reminder of his innate disadvange. “I’ll improve, sir.”

“Yes, I damn well hope so.” The superior commander turns and leaves.

And, at this point, Karkat snaps. His last shred of warmth for the Alternian Empire unravels, and, in its place, a burning desire for something better rises. It dawns upon him that there might be more to life than what he’s been told to do since birth, and, perhaps, he could find that. Surely, anything is better than this.

* * *

Against the drab grey and washed-out sky blues of the crumbling military base, Captain Takashi Shirogane seems to blend right in. He wears a faded blue-grey military uniform jacket, though the pants have been swapped out for more utilitarian black jeans. His lightly tanned face is youthful, yet his hair is white. When he speaks, he does so with a voice that's used to being in command. Though soft, it commands attention. “And you two are...?” Grey eyes study the two humans before him.

“Name's Dave Strider,” the man volunteers.

“And I'm Rose Lalonde,” supplies the woman. “We've been travelling for some time. Our old home, Camp Omega, was wiped out by the Trolls six years ago. We were the last remaining survivors.”

Leaning back in his worn out leather chair—the sort you'd expect to see in the office of some puffed-up CEO—Shiro nods. One hand, an advanced bio-powered prewar prosthetic, made of rusting metal, reaches behind his head. The other hand rubs his chin, which is covered in fine hairs of black stubble. “Camp Omega was a few miles northeast of here, wasn't it? Down by the river?”

“That would be correct,” confirms Rose.

“Sorry to hear about that. I wondered why we hadn't gotten much communication from them lately, but our scouts have never been able to push that far up without heavy casualties. My apologies for the lack of aid.”

“It's understandable, given the circumstances,” Dave shrugs. He reaches up, adjusts his shades, and folds his arms across his chest. “So, why are we being interrogated?”

“Standard protocol. We recently had some information leak to the Alternians, so we're just covering our own asses.”

“A reasonable precaution, then.”

“Indeed. It seems you two are trustworthy, though, so I'll see to it that you're both set up. You'll be given the necessary supplies to survive on this base, including information to log into the base-wide communications network, SkyChat. It can be accessed from any of the terminals on base, so you'll never be without access to information. All our official announcements are carried through SkyChat, and you can also chat with others during mandatory blackout periods using indoor terminals. Obviously, the outdoor access points are shut down during emergencies.” With this said, Shiro rises from his seat. He motions for the pair to follow him.

As the trio venture from the main office, they wander down a featureless corridor. The only directional hints available are the words and arrows, which are crudely painted on the wall. An arrow to the right directs them to Galley 1B. An arrow leading straight ahead directs them to Barracks 1A. The downward stairwell is marked as the entryway to Bunker A. Notices are pinned to the walls, many of them relevant and recent. Beneath these, there are older, yellowing pages—pleas of help from likely long-dead locals and missing posters.

Shiro gestures toward Barracks 1A. “You'll be stationed there. We have a surplus of old clothes, if you ever wish to change. We have assigned beds, but that sort of business will be overseen by your platoon leader. Yours is Keith.”

“Oh?” interjects Dave, “You mean the asshole who told us to go away?”

Rose aggressively shushes him.

Shiro, meanwhile, rubs the back of his neck. “He can be a bit prickly at times. Don't let it bother you. He's a good guy. Once you report to your quarters, he'll get you set up. If you want to eat first, our kitchens are open around the clock. Obviously, your galley will be this one.” A rusting metal finger points down the hall, following the arrow for Galley 1B. “We used to have a Galley 1A, but it's been sealed off due to a recent grease fire. Now, if you don't mind, I still have to catch up on some business. I'll see both of you once you're settled. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful!” Rose offers an enthusiastic response.

Dave merely huffs. He buries his hands in his pockets and rolls his eyes.

In the meantime, Shiro, apparently satisfied with his introduction, departs. As he leaves, he offers a brisk wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just getting back into writing and shit, so let me know how this is and point out any of my glaring typos. thanks for reading!


	2. I Will Never Give Up on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The Black Paladins - I Will Never Give Up on You** , by Brian Parkhurst, from _Voltron: Legendary Defenders: Season 4_.

... Terminal loading...  
Chat client active. Announcement created by palaDad [PD] at 09:02.  
Topic set: [ALERT UPGRADED TO MODERATE]

PD: Not to raise any alarms, as this isn't exactly a serious situation, but we've recently spotted a slight uptick in Troll patrols and forces on the ground. Our primary concern is, as always. safety. There's no such thing as too much defense. Please be aware that we are entering the appropriate status code. All outwardly visible lights are to be turned off after sunset, and any activities outside of the walls is for authorized scouting infantry only. There will be no exceptions to this.

PD: Secondly, as of tomorrow, all flight personnel are to report for rotating duty. The shield is being lowered for intermittent repairs. Be advised that the repairs will occur from 17:30-18:00 every other day for the new two weeks, with the first lowering scheduled for TODAY. My deepest apologies for the late notice.

PD: As always, thank you for your continued cooperation and efforts to ensure Base Zero remains intact. We are the final stronghold the world has, and we refuse to fall.

PD: Finally, the usual roll call of new recruits! Be sure to offer them the warmest of welcomes to Humanity's Last Stand.  
Anders Hussie  
Rose Lalonde  
Hershell Layton  
Dave Strider

End of message. Terminal shutting down...

* * *

So far, Dave Strider has met those he's required to meet, as one would expect. There was Pidge, an enthusiastic young woman, with slightly curled strawberry blonde hair; she introduced herself as the tech support of Sector A, and got Dave set up on the SkyChat client. Keith, the black-haired, mullet-sporting young man in charge of Sector A's residents did little to impress Dave, though his loner façade seems to betray an innate affinity for leadership. He briefly met with a Hunk, the cheerful chef of Sector A's kitchen. Then, there was Lance, the man who sleeps in the bunk above Dave's. As far as Dave can tell, Lance isn't fond of him. Now, perhaps “stuck-up preppy bastard” and “loser McSnoresville” are merely Lance's terms of endearment, but that is very,  _very_ unlikely.

Non-essential people, the run-of-the-mill staff of Base Zero, have also come to Dave's attention. Now, being who he is, he hasn't kept track of many of these people. Rather, he's noted the names of a select few to whom he's taken a shine. John Egbert, who also sleeps in the Sector A quarters, is a happy-go-lucky guy. More important, John Egbert gave Dave some cigarettes, which immediately upgraded his status from ‘unknown individual’ to ‘kind of a friend’. Likewise, an enigmatic man by the name of Adamska offered some of his vodka. (While Dave prefers ale, he won't turn down a good drink.) 

Now, as the clock nears 1 AM, Dave is finally through with his welcome to Base Zero. He's tired, but comfortable. In fact, he can't remember the last time he went to bed without nagging hunger pains, nor can he remember the last time he actually slept in a bed.

 

Rose Lalonde has also been offered the same greeting routine. She has acquainted herself with the women she'll be sharing her living quarters with, and she has yet to find an individual she dislikes. In fact, she's already hit it off with a bespectacled woman by the name of Jade Harley, who sleeps in the bed beneath hers. She finds the woman's discussions of farming techniques and cultivation practices oddly exhilarating, and her enthusiasm is contagious.

Nevertheless, Rose, too, finds herself growing weary.

As the clock strikes 1:30, she retires to her bunk, and, despite the murmurs of discontent she's been hearing from other residents, she finds herself at ease.

* * *

Around the base, Keith Kogane is known as Captain Shirogane's right hand man. Aside from being the leader of Sector A, he's the go-to person to aerial combat, so it's no surprise that he's been called upon for the first wave of defenders during the rotating shifts. According to the large, antiquated analogue clock in the middle of the facility, it's almost time to take off, and he's more than ready. He's dressed in his combat gear, which makes him a natural match for his vessel. Both favor the color red, and, oddly enough, scorch marks on the plane's surface seem to mimic the man's black mullet.

Nearby is the second in command of this outing. He's taller than his commander, and his body is slender, but lean. Tan skin seems to blend with dark brown hair, which is kept styled so that it balances what seem to be natural windswept tousles and a sort of selective neatness. ‘Lance Sanchez’ is emblazoned on the left breast of his blue leather jacket.

“How's Shiro's pocket pal doing over there?” Lance goads, folding his arms across his chest. He leans back, resting against the hull of his own ship, and smirks.

Keith, in reply, lets forth a low growl. “Fuck off, Lance. I don't have time for your bullshit.” He grabs his helmet from the left wing and puts it on. Unlike Lance, he's sure to secure the strap in place. While his flight partner might be more than happy to get beheaded by flying space debris, Keith isn't about to take that chance. He's keenly aware of his place as the base's most capable pilot, and he's not about to jeopardize the entire human race by risking his ass in the name of style.

Having said his piece, Keith enters the cockpit of his ship, dubbed The Firebird. The body is sleek, comprised of a reinforced GZ-1967. The weapons, though relatively low-powered, are built to work well with those of his fellow fighters. A powerful ion cannon is mounted to the top of the fighter, while six energy launchers are evenly distributed under the wings. This is, as Keith knows well, a machine built for speed and agility, not power.

Across the runway, with Lance at its helm, is The Icewing. Though similar in its armament, it comes equipped with an additional ion cannon and communication jamming capabilities. Unlike The Firebird, The Icewing is built for control and firepower. That's not to say that it isn't a nimble flier. Despite its two layers of heavy armor, its MSF-1972 body offers it more than enough power for easy dodging.

Finally, there's a third fighter on duty for this outing. Gargantia, piloted by a Alphonse Elric, is a colloquial tank. It's a large, heavily armed craft, capable of easily going toe-to-toe with full-sized battle ships of the Alternian army. It can take as much damage as it can give, and, perhaps, even a little more. It's one of the prized possessions of Base Zero, and was acquired by the former head of Base Zero, Commander Sanda, just before the outset of the war.

What matters is that the mission has begun, and the pilots have all taken off. For now, they have been instructed to remain in tight formation. As is often the case, Keith takes the lead, and is folowed by Lance and WV, respectively.

Above the familiar, almost comforting hum of The Firebird, the radio crackles to life. “What's up, Lone Wolf? See anything out there?” The voice is, without a doubt, Lance.

And, as he often does, Keith responds with an disgruntled sigh. “First of all, we're not using code names, because this isn't a fucking stealth mission. And, second, no. I don't see anything.”

“Sheesh. No need to be so aggressive about it, dude.” A pointed tut punctuates Lance's commentary. By his voice alone, Keith can envision his expression. He's likely shaking his head, like a disapproving parent. He opens his mouth to respond, only for the radio to interrupt him.

“All patrolling pilots, this is Matt Holt. Just calling to let you know that some suspicious activity has been seen to the southeast. Allura and Shiro agree it’s your call to engage.”

Immediately after the broadcast ends, Elric offers up his commentary. “That was  vague.”

“Fucking useless information, but we might as well check it out.” Keith shrugs. He pulls at the controls, forcing his plane upward, until its upside down, at which point he swiftly rights the vessel. “You don’t have to follow, Lance, but I guess you can, if you want.”

“Oh! It’s fucking on!” Lance follows suit, reversing course and destroying the carefully planned formation.

“Will the two of you just hook up already? Listening to you two hate-flirting is getting old.” His quiet voice, subdued tone, and lack of priority to the other two fighters on his team all mean that Alphonse’s commentary goes unheard.

By now, Kieth is hurtling headfirst toward possible danger. He acts as he always does, with an impulsive need to save everyone. If, he reasons, something is worthy of mentioning over the radio, then it must be of some importance. Its vagueness only seems to support his theory.

The former quiet has given way to the sounds of muffled gunfire. Below Keith, one of the infantry scouting units has engaged with the enemy. In front of Keith, a billowing, pulsating pillar of black smoke rises. “Matt, I have visuals on the point of interest. It appears to be a crash. I’ll get a closer look.”

“Gotcha. Be careful,” comes the static-laden response.

Keith eases the craft lower, until he’s fairly close to the ground, and begins to scan his surroundings. At the base of the column of ash, he sees wreckage. The vivid purple metal betrays the debris as Alternian-aligned. From the state of the mangled spacecraft, it seems as if nothing could have survived.

And it seems his teammates share the same sentiment. “I don’t think there’s much worth investigating at this place,” Alphonse volunteers.

“Yeah, and my scanners aren’t showing any active threat from that ship,” Lance confirms.

Keith, however, is focused on his own scanner, which detects possible signs of life. (As the fastest craft, The Firebird is often used in rescue operations.) Two dogs, almost directly below him, flash at regular intervals. “I’ve got readings here. I’m going in.”

To his teammates’ dismay, Keith lowers The Firebird to the ground. He gets out, steps forward, and prepares for confrontation.

Instead, twisted metal stirs. Two trolls emerge from the debris. One is a male, whose features seem to be set into a perpetual scowl. The other is a tall, objectively gorgeous woman, whose horns mimic the elegance with which she carries herself.

Neither troll is armed and, to everyone’s surprise, both come forward with their hands raised in surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, I'm going to link to some images for the fighter craft. Keith's looks a little [like this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lockheed_YF-12), and Lance's looks a little [like this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lockheed_Martin_F-22_Raptor). Obviously more spacey, but you get the idea. I also know nothing about planes. Or space flight.


	3. Supermassive Black Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I populate my fics like I populate my Sims towns: With shameless cross-fandom content.

“Back off, back off!” A man standsvefore the entry to the interrogation room. His neatly braided hair is golden blond, matching his eyes, and a metal prosthetic arm sweeps across the crowd. “Hey! You! Bastard in the back! You try that shit again, and I’ll kick your ass so hard it’ll break a hole in the shielding system on your way out!”

The crowd bristles. It ebbs forward, like a tide, and people demand answers. Who is inside of the chamber? Why have two trolls been taken into custody? Surely, they won’t be rooming with the humans, right? What of the new recruits; the base is at capacity, there’s barely any space for new humans, much less two trolls.

Another man, tall, objectively handsome, and fully aware of the latter fact, speaks up. His voice is commanding, and it carries over the commotion of the crowd. “Elric! Get this crowd under control!” As he speaks, he runs his fingers through his black hair.

“Yeah, well I’m trying that, Mustang! You really think they’ll just fuck off? You’re higher on the chain than I am. You know more! Say something!”

The older man, with his fingers now tangled in his raven hair, groans. “Dammit, I don’t know much more than you do!”

“Fuck!”

Roy Mustang growls. He leans his back against the heavy metal door and calls out, “SHIROGANE! GET A MOVE ON THAT INTERROGATION!”

 

Aside from the two trolls, there are four other people in the interrogation chamber. Obviously, this entire operation is headed by Shiro. Second in command is the interrogator, Riza Hawkeye. She is a fierce woman, whose slight frame doesn’t begin to betray her immense power. Her eyes burn with the passion and fire of umpteen of the most powerful incendiary charges. The final two in the chamber are two of the newest arrivals, and the only two who have yet to be given appropriate duties on base.

“What the hell am I doing here?” Dave Strider says what’s on everyone’s minds. “Rose and I ain’t even forty eight hours old ‘round here, so what’s up?”

“You’re being assigned your duties,” explains Shiro.

“Oh! Oh, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

At this point, Rose hushes her brother.

Several yards away, behind a wall of blastproof glass, are the two trolls. Both are cuffed to their chairs, and both are situated beneath the bright, but flickering ceiling lights of the room.

“What do the two of you want with us?” Riza demands. Her voice is calm, yet cold; there is no trace of compassion.

“We wish to join you,” the female troll, Kanaya, speaks. Her composure is one of total calm.

Conversely, the male troll is fire and brimstone. When he speaks, he spits. His brows are furrowed; his pointed teeth are bared. “I came here to join you fuckers, and you’re holding me hostage!? What the fuck are you thinking!? We could be your most valuable pawns.”

Hawkeye lets forth a low hum. She nods. From her belt, she produces a knife. Without really thinking about it, and with a natural ease, she spins it between her fingers. “And suppose you’re just spies?”

“We’re not spies,” Kanaya answers.

Karkat, in turn, lashes out. “We aren’t spies, you dumbass! Why would we willingly get ourselves captured? The likelihood of immediately having our thoroughly dead asses handed to us are way too high for Alternia to waste any trained soldiers on such an imbecilic operation!”

As she surveys her subjects, Riza studies their reactions. Both seem sincere, but that’s doesn’t mean much. She’s seen warm, and she’s seen what can happen to a mind exposed to it for too long. Trust is a foreign concept to her; it’s a privilege she shares with only one other person, and that happens to be the black-haired man guarding the door to the chambers.

“Tell me, what would you be willing to sacrifice for my trust?” she asks.

Kanaya opens her mouth to answer, but Karkat speaks before she can. “My fucking life.”

“ _And_ that of your friend?” Riza inquires further, noting the female’s obvious shock.

To her surprise, Kanaya nods. “I will also wager my life for the trust of the humans at this base.”

Riza nods. Despite her distrust, she sees the potential for a strategic gain. She backs away from the two trolls and opens the door to the observation section. “Very well, but, if you betray this trust, you will immediately be killed.” She returns from the other side of the room. She leans across the table, so that she is close enough to the trolls for them to smell the cigarette smoke on her breath, “And I will do it myself.”

With that said, she leaves the room. “Take them, and keep a close eye on them,” she advises Shiro.

And, to this, the man offers a solemn nod. “Good. So, you two, your duties begin now. You will be our new residents’ escorts. You will follow them at all hours, and ensure that they don’t do anything funny. Understood?”

“Understood,” Rose agrees without hesitation.

“WHAT!?” Dave thunders. “You’re sticking me with a troll!? At least tell me I’m getting the hot one.”

Shiro, despite a smirk, shakes his head. “Nope. You get Karkat. Of course, you can always refuse, but you _will_ be removed from the base.”

Dave sighs. He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine. Fuckin’ fine. Whatever!”

“Great!” Shiro’s smile grows.

The trolls are brought out, and the two pairs are given a chance to become acquainted. 

* * *

Dave Strider’s obedience is rewarded by the immediate tirades of a manic troll. The minute his new charge is brought into his vicinity, he expresses the very same disdain that Dave feels.

“You’re telling me that I’m going to be stalked by this blond douchebag my entire time here!? I came here, arms fucking outstretched, and I’m rewarded with this regressive offense on humankind!? Fuck all of you! If I wasn’t the scum of the earth on Alternia, I’d leave!”

Dave, despite his agreement with the sentiment, voices his own concerns. “First of all,” he huffs, “I’m the absolute coolest coolkid there is, and I’m pretty fuckin’ offended by your implications, pal. Second of all, if you’re so fuckin’ miserable, go home! Go back to your mothership!”

“First of all, it’s our aerial cluster. Second of all, even you’re an upgrade from Alternia.” There’s a fury in Karkat’s eyes, one that burns through the red of his irises and burrows into Dave like the most uncomfortable of knives. Not that knives are very comfortable, but this metaphorical knife is particularly bothersome.

In the back of his mind, Dave wonders if he would have been better off staying outside of Base Zero.

* * *

At the same time, but in a different room, a completely different atmosphere hangs between Rose and Kanaya. The two speak amicably to one another, exchanging chitchat like lifelong friends.

“I left because I felt no real ties to the Alternians. I might be treated well by others because of my blood color, but I’m certainly not indebted to them for that. Beyond that, Karkat, while being a spectacular idiot, is my friend, and I don’t want to see him hurt. So, I followed him,” Kanaya explains.

Rose offers a knowing nod. “Sounds like my brother. Let me make an educated guess. Impulsive, crude, and has absolutely no concept of self preservation?”

Kanaya laughs. It’s a soft, gentle sound, and it makes Rose’s cheeks heat up ever so slightly. “Exactly! That is Karkat. I assume that is also your brother?”

“You have hit the nail on the head, so to speak.”

Another laugh. Kanaya folds her arms across her chest. “Then I believe the two of them will be at one another’s treats by now, correct?”

“At this very moment, probably. Fortunately, we’re different.” Rose, too, offers a small smirk. “So, how do you speak English? Alternians have their own language, don’t they?”

“Over the past few decades, we’ve learned English. It is taught to us, the younger generation, as part of the war curriculum. Knowing what the other side is doing in battle is good.”

“That’s not unreasonable,” concurs Rose. “Humans have yet to master Alternian. I’d assume you’d have figured this out by our innumerable losses.”

“Indeed.” There’s a surprisingly somber tone to Kanaya’s reply. She doesn’t look Rose in the eye, and her formerly straightened posture slouches inward, as if she wishes to disappear. “I strongly disapprove of the colonization effort. It’s merely what we are bred to do, but others are also skeptical. Dissent, I believe, is growing. If there is one thing I can say about humans, it is that you’re a resilient lot.”

“I’ll take that as a complement,” Rose mumbles.

* * *

To say there’s unrest in the command room would be putting it lightly. Having all of the member of the upper echelons of control over Base Zero inside one room means that something big is happening, and it stands to reason that the acceptance of two enemy Trolls is very, very big.

The first of the group to speak is Shiro. “I understand that everyone is a little shocked right now, so I’d like to ask that we all take a moment and realize the advantages of having expat Trolls on our side,” he begins.

This calm tone is contrasted by the response from Roy Mustang. “They could also turn around and wipe our asses clean off of the planet, Shirogane.”

“Well, your wife trusts them. Surely, that counts for something.” Shiro’s posturing matches his tone. There is no tension in his body. He leans casually against the severely scuffed surface of the central oak wood table, and antique of the pre-War era, and his gaze remains locked upon his conversational target. It never waves. It never backs away. “We have a chance to understand our enemy more than we ever have. We’ve been fighting this war for decades, and, now, we have a chance to end it.”

“A chance,” Mustang retorts. His tone is calmer, now, but his furrowed brows belay his tightly wound emotions and opinions on the matter at hand. “Obviously, Hawkeye isn’t a fool. I trust her judgement more than my own, but I can still have my own doubts. The first sign of trouble, and I’ll be in the front row for watching those two get what’s coming to them.”

“Glad to hear it.” An older man, his hair and beard grey, responds. According to the fading lettering on the breast of his prewar uniform, his name is Samuel Holt. “So, we will maintain security around these two, and keep a close eye o them, but we will allow them to remain on the base. For now, it’s probably best to relocate them to a different section. We have a few good people selected to guard them when they’re in their private quarters. Veterans of Base Zero. Not to say that we doubt the abilities of the two newcomers.”

“Of course,” nods Shiro, now pointedly ignoring Mustang’s sulking. “So, I say this matter is settled. We will reconvene if anything should happen.”

“Agreed.” Both Sam and Shiro say this in unison and, after a few seconds’ pause and a dramatic sigh, Mustang also relents.

“Then this meeting is officially over. I will add the recordings to the database, as protocol states. Return to your posts.”

After a unified salute, the trio part ways, each returning to their primary area of operations within the base.


End file.
